


In a Pinch

by 1000Needles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 23:25:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16586303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000Needles/pseuds/1000Needles
Summary: “You’re a fucking sadist.”“That’s rather the point, Gladio.”





	In a Pinch

**Ignis**

 

After a while, Gladio says, “This show is so boring.”

“Are you bored?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Simple solution.” Ignis sets his wine down on the end table. It’s more for effect than anything, he doesn’t drink more than half a glass during a scene.

“Fuck you.”

“Manners.” He pinches the clothespin open. Gladio hisses. “A quarter turn should do it.” The jaws close again. 

It’s beautiful, that control of his. Fluid. He barely even jerks, it’s just a brief ripple and then his muscles settle back to taut stillness. Ignis watches him release his breath consciously, slow and careful.

“You’re a fucking sadist.”

“That’s rather the point, Gladio.”

 

 

**Gladio**

 

Gladio seldom has occasion to wear a suit and tie. 

For formal events at the Citadel, he is expected to present in his dress uniform. It means that the only time he wears what he thinks of as business attire is when Ignis wants to go somewhere fancier than a noodle cart for dinner. As Ignis invariably transfigures the meal they’re served, days later, into a gourmet concoction of his own invention, Gladio is happy to oblige when the mood to eat out strikes him. He has several attractive silk ties in muted blues and grays, enough tailored suits to keep Ignis satisfied, and a few pairs of extremely expensive leather shoes. When assembled on his frame, the effect is elegant but not so flashy as to draw attention from Ignis, who prefers a rather more exuberant style.

And when they get home, Ignis can’t keep his hands off him.

“Don’t you get your fill of men in suits when you’re at work?”

“They aren’t you,” Ignis says, trailing voracious kisses down his neck, and there’s no arguing with logic like that. “Hang up your jacket.”

“Yes, _sir,”_ Gladio says, rolling his eyes.

“And get your ass back here when you’re done,” Ignis calls from the kitchen, jumping up onto the counter. Gladio arranges the fabric on the hanger, smoothing the wrinkles away, and closes the closet door. He’s already hard. When he returns to the kitchen, Ignis is reaching across the counter for the wine.

“Here,” Gladio says, taking a glass from the shelf. “Let me get that for you.”

“Much appreciated, darling.” Ignis swings one foot, insouciant and lovely. _You are all I need,_ Gladio thinks; _you are my love and you are perfect._ Then he says it out loud.

“What a charmer.” Ignis accepts the glass and leans forward. “Kiss me, gorgeous.”

“At your pleasure.” Gladio moves between his spread legs. They make out, slow and hungry and satisfied at the same time, deep kisses that leave them both breathing heavy and hands all over each other. Ignis brushes a thumb over Gladio’s pec and he sighs into Iggy’s open mouth.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

They keep their kitchen counters empty. Ignis isn’t fond of unnecessary cooking gadgets, and he hates clutter. The only item permitted on the marble surface is a carved box with a lock. They only lock it when they have guests. And every time someone comments on their lovely cutlery chest, Ignis and Gladio look at each other and smile.

 

 

**Ignis**

 

There’s something particularly appealing about a man in a dress shirt, tailored slacks, and strict bondage. Gladio looks fantastic with his clothes off, of course he does, but when Ignis tweaks his hard nipple through the thin fabric it does something special for them both. He pushes forward into Ignis’s palm, silently asking for more. Ignis runs his hands through Gladio’s hair, through the cropped sides and into the thick tangle at the back, and kisses him, hard and possessive. He can never get enough of the way Gladio melts in his arms when he does that, wordlessly relinquishing control.

The chain might be their favorite ornament in the box of toys, although the silky rope is a close second. Ignis took an intensive workshop a few years ago on the art of rope bondage and fell in love. Practicing on Gladio has improved his skills immeasurably.

 

 

**Gladio**

 

Ignis uses Gladio’s arms, bound behind his back, as a handle to flip him swiftly onto his knees. People who are surprised by Ignis’s remarkable upper-body strength have never seen him in a sweaty tank top, Gladio thinks, smirking to himself. His face is pushed into the couch pillows. He tenses, bracing.

“Did you expect me to hit you?” Ignis cups his ass in both hands and draws deep, slow circles with his thumbs. “You’d enjoy that too much.”

“Not as much as you would.”

“Tempting as it may be, you’re not topping from the bottom this time.” Ignis sounds amused. His thumbs are tantalizing, circling so close and so far away through his trousers. Gladio can’t think of a clever response. He moans into the cushion instead and arches his back, seeking more contact. “Aren’t you eager? I should have you kneel in front of the television and hold your ass open for me. All your weight on your shoulders and your cheek pressed against the carpet. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No.”

“You’ve never been able to tell a convincing lie, Gladio. Try again.”

Ignis’s thumbs dip lower, brushing fabric against the sensitive skin behind his balls. He groans. “Yes.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He isn’t being deliberately difficult. It never gets easier; he struggles every time to drop the banter and the breezy facade. He loves how intuitively Ignis understands that. He loves Ignis for understanding how much he craves that respite. 

 

 

**Ignis**

 

He’s fond of this documentary, but he’s seen it before.

He deliberates for a while. Would it be more entertaining to make Gladio crawl? Even with all his clothes on, there’s something raw and animal about Gladio when he’s on his hands and knees. Putting him on all fours doesn’t detract from his elegance. He still stalks across the room as gracefully as a coeurl, and just thinking about it makes Ignis’s pulse race. But then he’d have to untie his arms, and he looks so _good_ like that. With his shoulders pulled back, his pecs jut out even more than usual, and the chain across his chest is a striking focal point. It’s too pretty to spoil, Ignis decides, and snaps his fingers as he rises from the couch.

“If you aren’t watching it, I might as well get some work done. Heel.” He clicks off the TV and walks towards his office without looking back to see if Gladio is following. Of course he is. 

He’s rather proud of his office. It’s what he dreamed of, all those years when he was stuck in that cramped apartment, studying at a little table right up next to his bed. It’s nothing grand, certainly not like his corner office at the Citadel, but it’s warmer. Oak shelves from floor to ceiling and a desk big enough to fuck on. Sturdy, too, for his enormous boyfriend. But Gladio won’t be allowed on the desk yet. Ignis snaps his fingers again and Gladio kneels by his chair.

“Lean forward,” Ignis says, pressing the crease between his shoulder blades. He unclips the chain without warning, and Gladio yelps. Ignis rubs his back soothingly as he threads the chain through the handle of the lowest desk drawer. Then he snaps it back on. Gladio turns his head to give him a reproachful glare. He’s got the perfect eyes for that expression, Ignis thinks; big brown puppy-dog eyes. Tormenting him is irresistible fun. 

He relaxes into his chair and opens the first of several reports he’s been putting off. He prefers to save the boring ones for Friday nights like this. He stops a few times to make Gladio flex his hands and stretch his legs out carefully behind him, one after the other. 

When he’s done reading, he puts the papers back in his briefcase and sets it on the floor. The desk is empty. He leans forward to unclip the chain, this time removing it completely and putting it in a drawer.

“Sit up,” he says softly.

 

 

**Gladio**

 

He still has his eyes closed when Ignis slides a gloved finger down his jaw and tips his chin up. He’s reluctant to leave that quiet space, the place without vision or thoughts. “Look at me, Gladio.”

Ignis’s face is such a beautiful sight to return to. He soaks it in, feeling nothing but peace. The dull throb of pain in his arms and chest and legs is very far away. It feels like a foundation, a raft that bears him through an endless sea, floating across the billows while the sun beats down on his face. There is no sun. It’s just very warm in Ignis’s office. He leans into his hand.

 

 

**Ignis**

 

Ignis has learned from long experience that Gladio will suffer stoically through any punishment. It’s tenderness that undoes him. His cheek cupped in Ignis’s palm, he sighs once, ragged and tired.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Ignis slides his foot up Gladio’s thigh. “And you’re not getting untied until I’m done with you.” He presses down with the sole of his shoe. The moan he receives is reward enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can follow me at moon-festival.com.


End file.
